db (II) "walking w/ you through the hospital graveyard"
note: minibus taxis on Main Road put plywood boards into the gaps btwn seat & door to stuff as many customers in as possible.
ours was piloted by a man gripping pliers where a steering-wheel should be so that to turn he would need to manually tighten them around the column. he was also visibly wrecked on tik, but if anything that only made his driving sharper. preemptive. future sight. cut the head to save the body. the fucker was lucid.
i had to duck to get in, climbing over rows & settling @ the back, my massive heft sweating on yr shoulder. the rows were like pews. the city was a sermon.
i don’t remember which one of us suggested going to the hospital graveyard—probably u. i hadn’t been in CT long.
in this bluelight i see the foreign pines bent like bowed heads & yr titian streaks glowing like strelitzia crests as u hopped amongst the brittle & the fynbos ravaging the trunk of the broken pine almost visibly as we sat & the man waving his hands like a holy gesture telling u a woman’s uncovered head was as good as desecration & the signs of a future we were too far back to see.
“walking w/ you…” written 2014.
w/ a motion of one
in veld-cracked bone
a rain on windows
[like lamplight faces]
lives in language
unreadable: i saw:
a blank diary
an unburning fire—
Rohini, head of thousands,
where have i taken